


Heat of the Moment

by QueenNeehola



Category: Tales of Berseria
Genre: Drinking, Drunk Sex, Friends With Benefits, M/M, Mild Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-20
Packaged: 2019-06-13 12:58:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15365202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenNeehola/pseuds/QueenNeehola
Summary: There had been an idea sitting on the edge of Rokurou's mind all evening, and as he had gotten hotter, more tired, and more full of alcohol, his already thin wall of reasoning that kept him from carrying it out had begun to crumble.He felt the last brick fall out all at once and growled under his breath, threw the bottle to the side, leaned over the table, grabbed Eizen’s stupid open shirt – and kissed him.





	Heat of the Moment

It became a habit.  The group would sit around a table and eat and drink and laugh, but time would tick on, and Laphicet would start to wilt against Velvet’s side.  Eleanor would follow soon after, despite her protests that she was still very much awake.  Velvet would chase them both upstairs, and then a while later she would disappear, too, though it was debatable whether she ever slept.  Magilou always stayed the longest, but as the hours grew smaller and the table quieter, with less people to act the fool around she would seem to shrink further into her own head until she would come to with a grin and a quip, and declare herself dog-tired and then, vanish.

Eizen and Rokurou were usually left in each other’s company, the last two patrons nursing their drinks and murmuring quiet chatter long after everyone else had left.  So yes, it became a habit.

They would talk about nothing in particular, sometimes airy subjects, sometimes dark ones: the journey, their companions, the Reaper’s Curse, the daemonblight.  If the mood took them, they would swap drinks as well.  Eizen’s vice was a bitter concoction in a brown glass bottle, but Rokurou enjoyed it in contrast to his usual subtly flavoured sake, which Eizen would take and sip at gingerly.  It would probably have looked odd to an outsider, to see this mismatched pair quietly enjoying one another’s company and sharing drinks, but no one was ever around to witness what had become, they both supposed, a regular ritual, and that suited them just fine.

 

On this particular night, though, something was different.  It was muggy, uncomfortable weather, and both the men and the alcohol were warm.  Eizen’s collar was open wider than usual, his trademark heavy black coat draped over his chair, and Rokurou had also shed his outer layers.

Rokurou pressed the clammy glass of Eizen’s bottle against his forehead and groaned.  “S’hot, huh,” he said.

“Yeah,” Eizen said.

Their conversation had been as stagnant as the air around them, and Rokurou groaned again, frustrated in more ways than one.  There had been an idea sitting on the edge of his mind all evening, and as he had gotten hotter, more tired, and more full of alcohol, his already thin wall of reasoning that kept him from carrying it out had begun to crumble.

He felt the last brick fall out all at once and growled under his breath, threw the bottle to the side, leaned over the table, grabbed Eizen’s stupid open shirt – and kissed him.

It wasn’t a clean kiss.  Eizen hadn’t been expecting it, so his mouth was all the wrong shape, and Rokurou was eager and booze-clumsy, but Eizen’s tongue was sweet with sake and, weirdly, that made Rokurou’s brain haze over more than any of the alcohol he’d consumed.

When they separated, Rokurou stayed close to Eizen’s face.  To his surprise, Eizen didn’t move away either.

“Never kissed a malak before,” Rokurou said, profoundly.

Eizen took a moment to respond, but Rokurou noted with an unexpected amount of pleasure that a smirk tugged at his lips when he said, “Can’t say I’ve ever kissed a daemon before either.”

Rokurou matched his smile, but his was all canines and feral desire.

 

They were halfway up the stairs before Rokurou realised they’d moved.  His thoughts were dim with lust, but he could feel clearly the hot, savage need to _have_ , to _devour_ and _ruin_.  His hands ached with the urge to dig his nails into skin and draw blood.  Arousal throbbed through his very veins, and it was a thought to just have Eizen right there in the stairwell.

He made it to the bedroom door, somehow, and collapsed against it, already panting.  Eizen was close behind and pressed him into the wood, and Rokurou whined like an animal.

Eizen chuckled, his breath hot on Rokurou’s neck.  Rokurou missed the doorknob spectacularly.  “Must’ve been a while, if you’re like this.”

Rokurou took a second to remember how words worked.  “Wasn’t much opportunity in prison,” he said, breathless.  He pressed his hips back against Eizen mindlessly, feeling the shudder that worked through the malak.  “Thought about Velvet, but she would probably…probably eat me.”

 

This time, the door opened and they stumbled in, kicking it closed again a bit too loudly.  The room was empty, as always, since Laphicet had taken to sleeping in the girls’ room, never one to be too far from Velvet or Eleanor.

Rokurou felt impatient hands in his clothes, wandering under fabric, pulling at edges.  “How the hell do you get into this?” Eizen hissed.

Rokurou danced away from him, unfastened a knot, and instead showed Eizen how he got out of it.

 

Again, Rokurou’s cognizance must have blacked out, because he didn’t remember falling onto the bed, or when Eizen had taken his shirt off, or how long they had been kissing, rutting against one another like beasts in heat.

Rokurou pulled at Eizen’s hair and bit his lips, but Eizen just pressed his shoulders back into the mattress and kissed him again, long, tender.  He pulled away, perched heavy on Rokurou’s hips, and pushed the daemon’s hair away from his face, exposing his blight.  Eizen touched it, too gently, and Rokurou rerouted the fingers into his mouth instead and sucked on them, sharp teeth grazing the skin and educing a low, throaty noise from Eizen.

 

They touched each other, groaning direction and praise into each other’s skin, for a long while until Rokurou thought he’d go mad with want, and Eizen rolled off the bed, standing up.  Rokurou snarled and clawed for him, but Eizen stepped out of reach.

“I have lube in my coat,” he explained quickly, and even in the state he was in Rokurou found himself leaning up on his elbows, quirking an amused brow.  If Eizen was embarrassed, he didn’t show it, instead only saying, “You’d be amazed what pirates get up to.”

He left, seemingly not caring that he was half-naked and hard, and Rokurou fell onto the pillows with a sigh, Eizen’s parting words sending spears of heat into his abdomen the more he thought about them.  He touched himself absently, raking his nails in repetitive lines along the inside of his thighs and around his entrance.  His chest heaved in anticipation.

And then Eizen returned, triumphant, a telling little bottle clutched between his thumb and forefinger.

 

The deed itself was messy, and rough, with Rokurou bouncing on Eizen’s hips and tearing red welts down his chest, crying out with every movement until Eizen flipped them and shoved his face hard into the pillows to take him more quietly.  Rokurou’s hands uprooted the sheets as he desperately drew in what little breath he could.  One of Eizen’s hands pressed firmly against the back of his head, holding him there, and the other gripped his hip like a vice, pulling him back to meet Eizen’s rhythm again and again and again and—

Rokurou came without being touched, screams stifled and eyes rolling.

Eizen followed with an unceremonious grunt a few thrusts later, fingertips painting insistent bruises into Rokurou’s skin.

They collapsed on either side of the small bed, spent and unbearably hot and sticky with fluids of each other’s making, and Rokurou sucked in some desperate breaths, his legs trembling and his head floaty.  The fire in his belly extinguished, he rolled over, looking at Eizen, who had his eyes closed.  He looked indecently peaceful.

Rokurou sidled up to him, and Eizen cracked an eye open at the movement, and Rokurou said, “Bet you’ve never done that with a daemon before either.”

 


End file.
